


It's a Tricky Situation

by mother_finch



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, mother-finch fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-11 16:08:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4442348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mother_finch/pseuds/mother_finch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PROMPT: SHOOT Prompt. Root has been refusing Shaw any sex action lately and its driving Shaw nuts. What she doesn't know is, Root has an embarrassing rash or something and it's sensitive....But Shaw convinces Root she can help, she is a doctor after all :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's a Tricky Situation

Her back's against the wall; there are hands in her hair and lips on her shoulder. Her breath is short and the hammering of her heart is loud like a tribal drum, all the while she tries to keep it calm. The sound of blood rushing in her temples is deafening, and she wants nothing less than for Sameen Shaw to hear it.

Shaw's hand wraps around Root Groves's forearm, and her eyes widen in a quick burst of pain. Through her long sleeve shirt, Root can feel Shaw's fingers as they encase her arm, palm pressing to her skin. What would usually exhilarate her sends a wave of nauseous pain aching up her arm, and she rests her head on the wall, forcing her mind to think. For her thoughts to span farther than just Shaw.

* * *

 

_I provoked this,_  Root thinks to herself, a smile on her lips but guilt in her eyes. She'd dropped by Shaw's apartment in the early morning, ready to tease Shaw before even the first rays of daylight broke across the skyline. Letting herself in, she sat on Shaw's kitchen table, putting on her most calculated and cool expression before dropping something to the ground. It was like setting a cat's tail on fire. It seemed that even before the small stack of junk mail thunked to the floor, Shaw was awake, laying on her stomach in bed with a gun aimed right for Root's center mass. However, seeing the clever grin in the dark, Shaw merely rolled her eyes, flopping back down on the mattress without a word.

 _I could have stopped there_ , Root tells herself, chills running down her spine as Shaw tilts her head back up, lips traveling along Root's neck.  _But I didn't._ Instead, Root persisted, sitting at the edge of Shaw's bed, affectionate eyes set to captivate and irritate until Shaw, groaning, sat up.

_'Why the hell are you here?' She'd asked rubbing one of her eyes._

_'For you, of course,' Root purred in response, and Shaw rolled her eyes. Then, catching Root's smirk and sparkling eyes midway through, stood, ears heating up._

_'I'm making coffee,' she'd muttered under her breath, headed for the counter. Root followed, feeling alive and playful despite the time of day. Pulling the sleeves of her shirt up to her finger tips, she'd crept up behind Shaw, wrapping her arms around her waste and pressing her icy nose into the warmth of Shaw's neck. Shaw didn't move, not acknowledging the motion but not denying it either._

_'_ Someone's _more intrusive than usual,' Shaw said at last, leaving Root be as she reached for a coffee mug._

_'It'll only get worse when you turn around.'_

And she did. And it did. So now, as the sun brings soft streaks of pink and orange flittering through the air, things have begun to get up close and personal. Root can feel as Shaw's other hand leaves her hair, coming down to the bottom hem of Root's shirt.

A panic overcomes her as Shaw's fingertips graze her skin, fingers curling in as she tugs the fabric upwards. Root pulls away instantly, pressing herself even further to the wall as she turns her face completely away, then all but dives to the right in retreat. Her breath is still ragged, but now for an entirely different reason. A mix of things swirl within her, from relief to wistfulness to relaxation to awkwardness. Peeking back over at Shaw, Root can see her eyes closed, arm folded as it leans against the wall, forehead resting in the crook of her elbow. Her hand is balled into a fist, lips held tightly together as she takes slow, even breaths. Root can read dispirit in her posture and is instantly prodded with a hot tong. It was the third time this week that sparks lead to fire, and it was the third time Root brought a gallon of water down on the flame.

"Hey, I didn't-"

"It's okay," Shaw says, not looking over. Her voice is honest but tired, and Root hopes that the fatigue only has to do with getting up early. Unsure of what to say, Root turns to the windows, allowing the sunlight to spill across her face. She closes her eyes against a beam of purple that shines right in her eyes, listening to the sounds of Shaw's breathing and her own.

There is a sliding noise before footsteps trail away. A shuffle. The footsteps return, this time magnified with the sharp click of boot heels, and a presence makes the hair on the back of Root's hair stand. She can feel Shaw close, within three inches of her shoulder, but doesn't open her eyes. She inhales deeply before giving a silent sigh, needing to calm down her still thudding heart.

"We should get going," Shaw tells her, voice quiet but echoing in the empty space. Root's ears strain, brain trying to read any context within the blurry lines. She can't find any. The pages are just as blank as Shaw's tone. Emotionless. Empty. Root detects no hints of bitterness, no hurt or upset undertones. Just a plain statement from one person to another. She bites her lip, knowing that- even though nothing resentful is in the tone- nothing warm is in it either.

Relishing the last few seconds of sun, Root nods, then turns towards the door, brown eyes wide open. She can feel the coldness of shadows on her face, and the icy fingers of a secret on her heart.

_____\ If Your Number's Up /_____

It was just after five in the morning when the two women escaped the flat, walking down the less than crowded sidewalk. All around, rays of light filled the gaps between buildings and clogged the spaces between tree leaves, filling the entire strip in beams of gold and pink.

No one on the street is talking, them included. Shaw walks, facing straight forward with Root at her side. Every so often the back of Shaw's hand grazes the fabric of Root's shirt, which is tugged down past her fingers. As a slight breeze sweeps by, Shaw can feel icy snakes slithering across her skin, and shifts in her short sleeve V-neck.

Her eyes peer Root's way, only to see her face clouded in concentration. The sunlight throws shadows across her features, all the while setting fire to her eyes. The light dances in them as Root's eyes scan the street before her, each flicker of tangerine and violet met with calculated thoughts.

Shaw tears her gaze away, brow hardening as she scolds herself, knowing she's been staring. However, she can't help it as her eyes continue to flicker back over every few seconds, mind reeling.  _What's she thinking?_

Shaw watches Root rub at her arm subconsciously.  _Is she nervous? Of what?_  As much as Shaw rolls it around in her head, she has absolutely no idea. And it's driving her crazy.

Why Root had been so twitchy, why she kept moving in just to jump out, why. Root could act completely normal, could be herself entirely, just to seize up on a dime.  _What is it?_

Taking a quick glance over, Shaw sees Root's eyes on her with an odd look, and instantly snaps her gaze forward. She bites the side of her cheek, eyes smoldering straight ahead. Something in Root's stare brings a hot frustration to Shaw's blood.  _Everything about her is unreadable._  Usually, Root could be an open book, sometimes in a second or third language, but every so often the book was bound shut and locked behind iron bars.  _This is one of those times_.

Shaw feels an unknown weight lift slightly from her chest as a subway entrance comes into view a few feet away. They slip in unnoticed, both heading towards their teams abandoned terminal in the dark.

"You okay?" Shaw asks slowly, voice cautious and laced with nonchalance. She's annoyed and worried- which only adds to the irked twitch she feels- and the silence had grown rather bothersome to her.

Looking over at Shaw, Root's face grows warm. "Fine," she replies, and Shaw stops walking. Out of every response, all the room for so much as the beginning of an explanation, there was nothing. Shaw stops walking, and Root slows to a halt a few seconds later. Turning, Root’s eyes hold a multitude of questions and her head is tilted slightly to the side. Shaw studies her a moment, the innocent lack of comprehension in her features making Shaw consider rolling her eyes and shrugging it off. However, something just a tad bit stronger holds her firm.

"I'm gonna go and look for John," Shaw says at last, patting her hands down on her legs as she gradually makes her way backwards. "I have some stuff to talk to him about."

After a minute, Root nods, a small smile struggling on her face, but failing in the end. Root turns back swiftly, brisk steps bringing her out of sight in a matter of seconds. Shaw watches her go until she ca't see anything but darkness, then listens to the sound of heels on tile until the clicking is nothing more than the echoes of ghosts. With an inaudible sigh, Shaw rolls her tongue around her mouth in frustration- this time with herself- and begins walking back towards the street.

Shaw's phone rings in her pocket, and she retrieves it to see a random string of numbers. Her gate slows in curiosity as she answers, allowing the sound to travel through her ear wig.

"-o Ms. Groves," Harold's voice comes into her, slightly distant but clear enough to understand. "Where is Ms. Shaw?"

There is silence a moment.

"She went to find the Big Lug." Root replies easily.

"What for?"

"I don't  _know_ ," Root responds with a mixture of annoyance and distress. "I guess it's a siblings kind of thing."

Shaw turns the volume up on her ear wig, walking quickly towards the exit to get better reception. She hadn't forgotten about the bug, but she hadn't used it in quite some time.  _Anyone else might feel guilty to eavesdrop_ , Shaw says to herself, devilish smile curling onto her lips.  _Good thing I'm not anyone else._ There is a ruffling sound that nearly blasts Shaw's eardrums, and she brings a hand to the side of her head, eyes narrowing.

"Are you alright?" Harold asks, voice shaded with concern. The noise stops, leaving an eerily abrupt silence.

"Yeah," Root answers at last. "I just... There's a  _thing_. And I'm trying to get rid of it." A quietness follows, and Shaw can see Harold's stern, take-no-bull gaze in her mind's eye. "I've got it under control," Root insists, and Harold sighs.

"Any plans for this morning?" Harold asks, an air of exasperation in his tone.

"I have a school bus to drive at six thirty," Root replies, a coy amusement tying itself around her words. "Kids have a  _lot_  of learning to do. And She says I do too." With that, Shaw hears heels in her earpiece and echoing footsteps only a second behind from further down the tunnel. Using silent steps and keeping her breath low, Shaw quickly escapes the station, allowing herself to get lost in the crowd before Root can know she was ever there.

______\ We'll Find You /_____

At four forty-five in the afternoon, Root Groves steps into her apartment, kicks off her shoes, and locks the door behind her. The beginning of a migraine bubbles up from the back of her neck, and the sound of fifty third graders screaming echoes in her ears.

"If you plan on keeping me there," she says aloud, not expecting an answer but having the Machine in mind. "I'm gonna need a raise."

"That bad, huh?" Root stops, halfway through discarding her coat, eyes darting straight ahead. The lowering sun leaves a light gray filtering through her apartment; however, it is not enough to illuminate the space. Nonetheless, a smile creeps onto her face.

Tossing her jacket away, Root flicks on the nearest switch, and her kitchen is instantly bathed in light. She tries to suppress her grin, but it only spreads wider as she sees the small woman dressed in black sitting atop her table.

"You  _spying_  on me now, Sweetie?" Root asks, sliding the chair out from under Shaw's feet. She swings it around, sitting on it backwards, as Shaw folds her legs in, placing her elbows down on her knees.

"Maybe."

"Or  _maybe_  you bugged Harold?" Root offers, devilish smirk on her face with knowing eyes. The almost microscopic twitch of a smile greets the corner of Shaw's mouth.

"No. He found mine a week ago." There is a super nova in Root's eyes as she leans away from the back of her chair.

"Bugged  _me_?" She asks, something like flattery and excitement in her tone. The explosion in her eyes only grows as Shaw's lip pulls down in a defensive sneer. Rolling her eyes, Shaw unfolds herself from the table, slipping off and leaning against its edge, inclined close to Root. Her smile falls slightly, eyes scanning Shaw's as she feels her breath hitch. Then, gaining herself, she leans back in, crossing her arms over the back of the chair, lazy smile on her lips as she looks Shaw up and down.

"So," Shaw starts, bringing the lime light from herself. "What ‘ _thing_ ’ are you trying to get rid of?" Root's smile disappears at once, brightness in her eyes swapping out for unreadable stone, and she stands.

"It's nothing."

" _Nothing_?" Shaw responds incredulously.

"Nothing  _I_  can't handle," Root corrects with a twinge of annoyance in her tone, then, with a natural cheeriness, adds, "You want something to eat?" Root turns towards the counter, but before she can take a step, Shaw grabs her just below the elbow. At once, Root recoils, hand drawing in towards her abdomen.

"Is it something with your arm?" Shaw persists, thinking back to earlier in the day.

"It's  _nothing_ ," Root insists; Shaw grips her arm in a flash- hard. She sees the blossom of pain blooming in Root's eyes instantly and releases Root's arm, but steps forward with authority.

"What is it."

"I... don't know," Root answers, voice smoldering but eyes honest. Shaw looks at her a moment, thinking.

"Let me see," she says at last, voice less insistent than before. Root raises her eyebrows before a slow smirk pairs with nervous eyes.

"It's not pretty," she warns.

"I'm sure I've seen worse." With one last wary look at Shaw, Root brings her fingers gingerly to the hem of her shirt, pulling it swiftly up and over her head. At once, a red snaking pattern greets her eyes, from just above Root's wrist to her shoulder, then down her entire left side. Shaw takes another step forward, coming close to Root's side to look it over before grabbing her arm lightly. Bringing it before her eyes, Shaw's brow furrows slightly in concentration. Root watches her, unable to keep the indulgent smile from her features.

"When does it hurt?" Shaw asks, voice somewhat distant as she rotates Root's arm around in inspection.

"Whenever a lot of pressure is on it."

"Itch?"

"Yeah."

"How long have you had this?" Shaw questions, eyes breaking away from Root's arm to peer up at her. Upon seeing the look in Root's eyes, Shaw presses her lips together, narrow gaze set without an ounce of amusement.

"Uh... around Tuesday of last week? Eight days?" Root wants to peer down at the rash, but can't seem to take her eyes from Shaw.

"Have you been out in the woods?"

"Well, we had that one number on Monday," Root points out, then stops, gears spinning behind her eyes. "Why? Do you know what it is?"

"Poison Ivy," Shaw replies casually, turning Root's arm once more. Root's eyes widen as she yanks herself away from Shaw.

"Don't  _touch_  it then!" She bellows. Shaw's lip turns up in a smirk as she gives a subtle laugh.

"Calm down, Wilderness Explorer, it's not contagious after day three." Root visibly relaxes, coming back over to Shaw and placing her arm back out. "But, since you haven't been doing anything to help it, it'll probably take a little longer to go away."

"Well, I've been scrubbing at it in the shower?" Root offers, and Shaw rolls her eyes.

"Like I  _said_ ," Shaw murmurs under her breath, letting Root's arm fall back to her side. "Nothing to  _help_." That being said, Shaw brushes past Root, eyes set on the refrigerator. "Have any vinegar?" She calls out behind, already rummaging through the drawers.

"Top left."  Shaw's eyes scan a moment, then she selects a glass bottle from a shelf and places it on the counter. Before Root has the chance to ask why, Shaw has disappeared. The bathroom door opens, there is a shuffling noise, it closes, and footsteps return. Shaw rounds the corner with a half-bag of cotton balls, eyes expectant.

Coming from a sort of daze, Root briskly makes her way to the counter as Shaw dabs the first cotton ball in vinegar before bringing it to Root's waist. The liquid is cold on her skin, but an unmistakable burning slides its way deep into her tissue, and her muscles stiffen. However, as Shaw continues the process, the burning fades away, along with the itching of before.

Bringing her eyes away from her side, Root looks up at Shaw, whose face is held tight in professional calmness. She holds the air of a doctor, and Root can almost envision her as such. "You're real good at this medical stuff," Root says, shifting, and Shaw begins to bristle.

"Tell that to the state of New York," she mutters tactlessly, and Root grins.

"Why would I do  _that_?" She asks slyly, moving once more, and Shaw yanks her back, grabbing another cotton ball. "Then you'd always be out there, and I would never have any time with you  _here_." Shaw's jaw sets in annoyance, but she says nothing more. After watching her for another few seconds, Root turns to face Shaw head on, and Shaw's smoldering gaze reluctantly reaches Root's eyes. "Are you always so...  _impassive_  with your patients?"

"Yes," Shaw replies flatly, once more turning Root to the side to continue her work. Root keeps her head over her left shoulder, watching Shaw. Again, this time purely for amusement, Root moves, seeing with wicked delight as Shaw's ears redden angrily.

"You  _could_  make an exception for me," she informs Shaw, keeping the laughter from her voice.

"I  _could_  let you do this yourself, too," Shaw spits, fatal gaze directed straight at Root. "And I just might," she continues, "if you don't stay the Hell  _still_." Root gives her eyes a slight roll, but doesn't move. After a drug out glare of warning from Shaw, she begins yet again, motions choppy in frustration.

"Whatever you say, doc," Root muses aloud, feeling a chuckle wrestling to escape her lips. In response, she feels a sharp jab to her side, and the humorous laugh leaves her in an astonished wheeze.


End file.
